In an alley where lanterns lean low to the wall,
And shadows lace gently across evening’s shawl,
A voice like warm velvet begins to arise
A sigh wrapped in music, a tear in disguise.
Fado, they call it the song of the street,
Where sorrow and beauty in silence meet.
A woman in black with a lantern of flame,
Sings of lost sailors and love without name.
Her voice climbs the stones, where the old trams have been,
Where laundry sways softly and hearts have grown thin.
A guitar responds with a tender refrain,
Like waves kissing rooftops again and again.
It’s not joy, not quite sorrow it lives in between,
In the corners of cafes, where time is unseen.
It lingers in hearts like a kiss that won’t fade,
A memory worn, but never betrayed.
Fado remembers the ones who have gone,
The night with no moon, the silence at dawn.
But still it keeps singing, both broken and bold
A story of Lisbon forever retold.
So sit by the window, let your thoughts drift away,
To a city that sings even after the day.
And if you should weep, let it be soft and slow
For Fado is weeping, and wants you to know.
JH
Artwork by Julan
Julan62 